


Through the Wall

by CanonCannon



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Awkwardness, Embarrassment, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Overhearing Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8688379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/pseuds/CanonCannon
Summary: Another low moan. For Christ’s sake, Daryl knows Rick and Michonne moved to the room on the ground floor.“Think they’re drunk?” Michonne wonders aloud.





	1. Chapter 1

Michonne jolts, hand reaching immediately for her katana. Her instincts are flaring even before her brain is fully awake.

“Shh, Michonne. Calm down. We’re safe,” Rick says quietly. He’d just settled into bed, which is what woke her. He knows better than to touch her when she’s like this, but his hand hovers close in case she needs him.

She realizes she’s still a little drunk from the party last night. Rick must be as well.

“I’m fine,” she whispers back a moment later, having gathered her wits. Then there’s a loud groan from the living room and she jumps again. “What was _that_?”

“Shh, quieter. Relax, it’s fine. There’s just, uh. People in the living room,” Rick sounds oddly shrill.

“Ok… What people? Did Carl-”

“No, not Carl,” Rick chokes. She looks at him, alarmed. What on earth is wrong with him?

There’s a loud knocking sound, following by… giggling?

“Who else would that be?”

“It’s… Oh, God. It’s Daryl.” Rick shakes his head as he says the name. “Daryl and Rovia.”

“Jesus? Why would he be here?”

Rick looks positively haunted in the dim light from the window. “They’re uh… Daryl and him are…”

Michonne moves to stand up, impatient with her suddenly nonverbal boyfriend. Rick springs to life, snatching her elbow to stop her.

She spins around, staring. Even with him, she has to fight the instinct to lash out at someone touching her unexpectedly. She swings her long hair behind her and shakes out the arm he’d grabbed, glaring down at him. “Ok, you need to spit it out. What the hell is going on?”

“Daryl brought Rovia home from the party and I just walked in on my damn brother blowing a guy named Jesus against our living room wall, that’s the _hell_ that’s going on!” he snaps back, voice never rising higher than a whisper.

The swordswoman stared at him, uncomprehending for several seconds before his words sink into her resistant brain. Michonne’s eyes widen against her will at the idea of Daryl—surly, badass Daryl—sucking someone’s dick, but she refuses to let herself think of it like that. There’s no shame in it. After all, she’s surly and badass and gives great head.

No, there’s no shame in it, but there is an awful lot of surprise. She lays down again slowly, suddenly very keen not to make any noise. “Huh. Did not see that coming.”

Rick’s head falls back on his pillow with silent laughter, sharing her disbelief.

“Don’t think they’ve gotten that far yet.” Michonne smacks him. “God in heaven, the guy lives like a fucking monk the whole time I’ve known him, never said shit to anyone about being gay, and I had to find out by catching him… catching him with a _date_ in our living room. At least they didn't hear me. Did he think it would matter to me, that he’s gay? That I would care? I mean I’d rather not _see_ it, but that’s because he’s family, not because…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Trying to lighten the mood, Michonne says, “I’d say that he should pay for your therapy, but we’re short a therapist.” Rick doesn’t smile. His lips are pinched and his eyes are on the ceiling. She reaches over and takes his hand. “He can’t possibly think you’d be bothered. He’s seen you with Tara and Aaron.”

“Yeah, but for those years after Jacqui died we didn’t have anyone in the group that was… well, fuck, actually we _did_ have a gay person in the group that whole time, just none of us knew it.” Something occurs to him and he buries his face in his arms, his voice muffled as he says, “Shane used to crack gay jokes all the time. Hell, I bet I laughed sometimes. Daryl must have thought, I don’t know, we were these good ole’ boy cops… damn it. Who knows what he thought.”

“Rick, whatever he thought then, he knows better now. And growing up how he did, I doubt a guy laughing at some bullshit jokes would have phased him much,” she says, even though she hates the idea of Daryl sitting by while Shane casually, unknowingly mocked him. Michonne believes what she said, but she also knows the archer is painfully insecure. He might not have been heartbroken at Shane’s bigotry but it would have made him wary.

Rick and Michonne are silent for several moments. Unfortunately the two in the living room are not.

“I don’t suppose we have any earplugs in here?” she asks finally.

“Nope. There are some in the upstairs bathroom but the only way I’m going back out there tonight is if I die and turn into a walker.”

“Not funny,” she reprimands, but she’s smiling a little.

Another low moan. For Christ’s sake, Daryl _knows_ Rick and Michonne moved to the room on the ground floor.

“Think they’re drunk?” Michonne wonders aloud.

“Daryl must be. He hates that son of a bitch.”

“Wait, seriously? Should we interrupt?”

“What, like, hose them down in case one of ‘em is too drunk?” Rick shoves his palms back into his eyes, hesitant.

A whispered but distinct “Fuck… aw, _fuck_ ,” comes from the living room. Definitely Daryl. Michonne feels her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

“He sounds fine to me,” Rick deadpans.

“Rick…”

The former deputy sighs. “It crossed my mind, but I saw them talking when we left the party and they seemed alright.” He scowls, shaking his head. “If anything we should interrupt on the grounds that that Jesus guy is a smarmy little prick.”

Rolling her eyes, she persists, “Are you sure? Dixon can handle his liquor, but I don’t know about Jesus.”

“Me neither, but I do know Daryl wouldn’t be doing… _that_ , if Jesus was impaired.” He chuckles darkly. “I remember wondering what they could possibly have found to talk about. Guess now I know.”

Michonne had noticed the two men talking more in general, but this didn't seem like the moment to mention it to Rick.

From outside they hear a sharp “Oh God, Paul, ohgodohgodohgod,” followed by a loud thunk on the wall. Michonne’s torn between horror and amusement. Oh, she is going to give Daryl so much shit for this, she doesn’t care how red he gets. She’s pretty sure she was just forced to listen to him orgasm less than twenty feet away from her, so he can deal with whatever teasing she deems appropriate.

Rick’s obviously gotten the same impression of what they just heard. “Please let that mean they’re done. I’m kicking Daryl out for this, swear to God. There are plenty of empty houses.”

“Shush. You don’t want him to move out, you know how good he is with Judy. If he bothers to get Jesus down to his room next time this won’t be a problem.”

“Uh-uh. He’s out.”

Michonne just chuckles quietly. She’s proud of Daryl for opening up to anyone, but she’s especially glad it’s someone like Jesus. She likes the guy. Rick does, too, a fact he’ll probably only admit when the memory of catching him _in flagrante_ with his brother fades a bit.

“Wait, _next time_? You think they’ll do this _again_?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning.

Daryl wakes up slowly, feeling groggy. From the angle of the early morning sunlight he knows right away that he’s not in his room, but that’s not all that unusual. There are supply runs, trips to the Kingdom and Hilltop. Hell, he crashes on Aaron and Eric’s couch sometimes when he’s been working late in the garage.

More unusual is the heavy weight covering his body from about the neck down.

Cracking an eye open, he sees that he has Paul Rovia drooling on his chest. His heartbeat speeds up a bit.

They fell asleep on the living room couch, because...

Right.

They had been at the party, Paul had walked him home, and… yeah. Stuff happened. The younger man had been being all cute, seeming a bit shy for once in his goddamn life. Maybe it was a ploy, but if so Daryl’s happy he took the bait.

The hunter smiles in spite of himself, eyes on the unkempt man whose legs are tangled with his own. He’s so used to only seeing Paul when he’s perfectly groomed, neat and tidy. He likes this version too, though, right down to the frizzy hair and small puddle of drool growing on his shirt.

The smile vanishes without a trace when he hears a voice from the kitchen. “Can I, dad?”

Shit, that’s Carl. Talking to Rick, which means… shit shit _shit_. The leader would have had to walk right past the couch to get to the kitchen, and unless he’d gone blind overnight there was no way he missed the spectacle Daryl and Paul had made of themselves. How did they even fall asleep out here? _Why_? They’d been talking after the- the other activities, and at some point Daryl had laid down, and then it all went fuzzy in his memory.

They’re both dressed—thank the Lord for small mercies—but their shoes and socks, his vest, and Paul’s jacket are God knows where. Worse, they are _cuddling on the fucking sofa_ , and Daryl is so glad he’s outlived the age of cell phone cameras. Bad enough that Rick is going to give him hell for this for the rest of their fucking lives.

Daryl goes to poke Paul on the shoulder. They need to get up _now_. Two hours ago would have been preferable.

Unfortunately he’s a half second too late, and apparently Carl was asking for permission to drop a fuck-ton of pots and pans on the tiled floor.

Paul arches and lashes out like a startled cat, karate-chopping Daryl right in the throat. He’s on his feet a second after that, crouching and facing the kitchen before Daryl is even breathing properly again after the small explosion of pain knocked the wind out of him.

Paul straightens up a moment later. His eyes are wide, even wider than they'd been last night when Daryl dropped to his knees in this very room.

 _Ugh, stop thinking about that with your family in the next room_ , Daryl thinks to himself, shifting his hips a bit.

Meanwhile Paul is saying with an awkward wave, “Oh. Hi. Good morning, Carl… uh, Rick, Michonne… Judith.”

Michonne answers in an amused voice, “Morning, Jesus. I made pancakes… sounded like you and Daryl worked up an appetite last night.”

_Sounded?!_

Blushing right down to his toes, Daryl wishes the karate chop had killed him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I got a tumblr (https://canoncannon.tumblr.com) so I can keep up with the rest of the fandom a bit more... no clue what the hell I'm doing, but hey, follow me!


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